


merry make me, love

by orphan_account



Series: the chronicles of sub geralt [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Before Jaskier meandered into his life with nothing but seemingly naïve cheerfulness and a lute in his hand, Geralt never would’ve thought himself as the type to lay back on the mattress and let a prick into his ass.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: the chronicles of sub geralt [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618516
Comments: 6
Kudos: 347





	merry make me, love

Before Jaskier meandered into his life with nothing but seemingly naïve cheerfulness and a lute in his hand, Geralt never would’ve thought himself as the type to lay back on the mattress and let a prick into his ass.

Now, he was no stranger to that particular activity— how else would rambunctious, drugged, mutating boys pass the time outside of training?— and has been on the giving end of it for both men and women over the course of his long life, but not once had he been on the receiving end. He’s familiar with the feelings of pushing in and filling, but the sensations of being  _ pushed into _ and  _ filled _ were miles from being the same. Originally, he found it a little dumbfounding when his partners would make exaggerated groans and vocalise their pleasure so wantonly, but when he got to be the one in their position, he understood them far too much.

Since the first time they tussled together in the sheets (or, rather, the wall), Jaskier has  _ always _ been on top. It was rather uncommon for him to see Jaskier so in control of a situation bar his musical talents, and no fibre of his being wants to deny that Jaskier  _ did _ fuck all of the heightened senses out of him each time they slept together, so it was an easy and agreeable situation; Geralt goes to Jaskier, Jaskier eases him of his tensions and worries, ploughs into him like a farmer to his fields, and leaves the both of them satisfied.

Which makes his latest proposal confusing to Geralt. Instead of the usual, where Jaskier rams Geralt into the headboard one way or another, he wants to  _ ride _ Geralt.  _ Like a horse, _ Jaskier had told him when they were on the road, and it took every part in the witcher to not clock him upside the head for such an obscene comment in front of Roach. Geralt, despite his disapproval of certain word choices, is just as quick to approve of the idea as he is to mull over what that  _ exactly _ meant for them.

Jaskier had originally understood that as a  _ ‘no’ _ and dropped it as soon as he’s brought it up. He doesn’t look particularly put out over the thought of it, but the witcher had seen the split-second look of disappointment that flashed across his face. However, it was quickly amended by Geralt when he bent down to kiss his lover; a promise.

When they’re in a shabby inn in a town that smells of ash and pine, Jaskier doesn’t waste any time when they enter their rented bedroom, hands exploring Geralt’s body and skillfully removing pieces of armour like it was second nature. Jaskier is patient enough this time to  _ not _ toss the leather away like old rags and takes his time to take them apart carefully, his mouth not leaving Geralt’s neck as he leads them to the bed. It takes absolutely everything in the witcher to not go lax so quickly under Jaskier’s loving ministrations, feeling like he was doted upon and cared for. They’ve spent enough years together for this to be a good thing to Geralt.

“Jask…” Geralt breathes out, certain his neck and jaw are littered with more evidence that Jaskier had been there, and rather than embarrassment or shame, he feels a burning kind of glee in being able to show off that he belonged to someone— that he belonged to Jaskier. The bard, in response, simply hums from where he sat atop Geralt, the lips on his throat kissing a lane to his own lips.

Jaskier’s thigh rubs a little too close to his crotch, and it has him inhaling sharply and following the pressure. He hears another hum resound from the bard, who pushes the thigh closer to Geralt’s clothed cock. It’s nowhere near enough to what he wants, but he takes it anyway, grinding on his lover’s thigh. This time, he hears a sound of disapproval, but Jaskier’s talking before he can even wonder _ why. _

“I think we’re far too clothed for this, aren’t we?” Jaskier says, leaning towards Geralt’s ear. The witcher makes a sound of agreement, far too small for a man of his stature, but these are the precious few times he can be someone  _ other _ than the Butcher or the White Wolf, so he relishes in them. Untying his trousers, he shoves them down and off of himself as Jaskier keeps his on, watching Geralt with amused interest.

“And- you?” Geralt asks, feeling prickles in his skin from the heat of Jaskier’s gaze, looking up at him from his own position under the man. Jaskier grins, before shifting wordlessly and instructing Geralt with the prodding of his fingers, moving the witcher’s hips so that Jaskier was the one under Geralt.

“My dear, what I want,” He begins, nipping and kissing gently at Geralt’s neck. “Is for you to get yourself off on my thigh. Do you think you can do that?” He asks, his tone gentle, but Geralt can hear the lustful rasp in his words. The prospect is certainly interesting; one he hasn’t tried before, of course, but as it seems with Jaskier, there’s a first time for everything.

Geralt responds with a grunt of understanding, positioning himself on top of Jaskier’s still clothed thigh. A part of him is slightly thankful that Jaskier chose today to wear his softer trousers, but he knows that even if the slide were rougher, he would’ve done it all the same if it meant he’d get to see Jaskier look at him with so much adoration and lust and  _ love. _ He sits down, careful not to put his full weight on him, and starts moving, sliding the underside of his cock and his balls across Jaskier’s thigh, and the drag is so  _ dry _ that Geralt has to stop the whimper that rises in him. He feels Jaskier’s comforting hands on his hips, a silent reassurance, and finds it in himself to keep going.

It’s too dry, but still  _ so fucking hot. _ His cock is unbearably hard, and he finds himself chasing his orgasm as he thrusts into Jaskier’s clothed thigh with abandon. He feels a little ashamed at how quickly he’s getting off, but the fingers rubbing circles on his hips and the approving murmurs against his collarbone do wonders to his arousal until he feels no shame when he’s cumming in hot spurts, thoroughly ruining Jaskier’s trousers with spend. The bard is unbothered by this, rather, he’s grinning with almost ravenous intent in his eyes.

“Mmh, that was good, wasn’t it?” He whispers, littering Geralt’s collarbone with kisses. In the back of his mind, he wonders what he did to deserve this pampering. “You were good, weren’t you? What say you for more?” He questions, kissing now his neck. Geralt is like putty in Jaskier’s hands, thighs still trembling from his orgasm, but he’s yet to be sated. Jaskier, well aware of a witcher’s stamina, takes advantage of this as he shifts them again and, careful not to jostle Geralt’s cock during the few seconds it was sensitive, moves so Geralt’s lying on his back.

Standing up, Jaskier removes the rest of his clothes, tossing his cum-stained trousers a little further than the rest of their clothing, before rejoining Geralt on the bed and straddling the witcher below him, hard cock on full display. Despite the sensitivity, Geralt feels a jolting current in his cock as it tries to fill out again at the sight of Jaskier. The bard traces a finger along the underside of his jaw to the tip of his chin, tilting his head up to catch him in a kiss; it’s slow and sweet, so Geralt savours the scent of  _ orchids _ and  _ oak _ and just  _ Jaskier. _

“I want to fuck myself on your cock,” Jaskier says simply when they part, and there is  _ nothing _ simple about what he says, but what really surprises Geralt is the request. Jaskier has never asked him to fuck him before, and he had been content with being fucked instead. “Of course, I won’t relinquish my control, worry not,” And Geralt is  _ not _ worrying but he thinks his expression might say otherwise, “I want to take you in a way I haven’t before. Does that sound well with you, darling?”

Geralt nods quickly, a whispered yes spilling out from his mouth. Jaskier smiles at his eagerness and kisses him again, before grinding backwards on his rapidly growing erection, eliciting a moan that thrums through his chest. Jaskier reaches over him for the oil by their nightstand, thankful that the wind hasn’t extinguished the candle yet so he can find the bottle. He uncaps it and, wasting no time as he adjusts himself above Geralt, covers his fingers in the oil and pushes one in. Jaskier makes a controlled noise, wary of waking the rest of the inn’s population, but Geralt is entranced by his movements all the same. With golden cat-like eyes, he watches Jaskier work into himself.

Soon enough, one finger becomes two, then becomes three, until Jaskier’s sure he can’t fuck himself more with his fingers lest Geralt misses all the action. He smiles lopsidedly at Geralt, almost too sweet for what they’re doing right now, which was always the case with Jaskier— so open and loving even, maybe especially, when their cocks meet and their orgasms rip through them. Before long, an oiled hand is slicking up Geralt’s cock, who has to school his moans so they don’t get thrown out, then his cockhead meets a puckered hole and his self-control splinters.

With a sigh of pleasure, Jaskier lowers himself down until Geralt is fully sheathed into him. It doesn’t take Jaskier long to adjust, although he still takes a moment considering how long it’s been since he’d last had a cock in his ass, then he’s rising up and coming down on Geralt’s cock. True to his word, he’s still in control, even in his position; even if it’s Geralt’s prick in him, he still controls the pace, his hands still wander Geralt’s body, and his mouth is still so  _ filthy. _

“Fuck, I forgot how good this feels,” Jaskier says, and it’s obvious how he felt; his cheeks are tinged pink and his panting is less controlled. “You’re always so good for me, so pliant, when I fuck you,” He continues, and Geralt already feels his orgasm building up from inside him. “And now you’re letting me fuck myself on your lovely, thick cock. What could I have done to deserve you?” He asks to no one in particular, his riding quickening in pace and becoming more erratic.

“ _ Gods, _ Jaskier—” Geralt moans, now fucking up into Jaskier, hitting that spot inside of him that has Jaskier groaning into his mouth. Jaskier lets out a plethora of  _ ah, yes, right there _ and seals them together with a kiss, biting and sucking at Geralt’s bottom lip and swallowing the moans and whines from the witcher. “I’m close,  _ please, _ ” Geralt tells him when they break apart, fingers surely digging bruises into Jaskier’s hips, but the bard shows no sign he cares about the pain.

Jaskier grins at him, blue irises a thin ring behind the black of his pupils and sweat running from his forehead to his chest. There’s a beauty in him, inside and out, that Geralt doesn’t have the words to describe, and he finds himself content with that conclusion. “Then cum for me, Geralt, my love,” Jaskier coaxes, heart swelling at how quickly Geralt follows his instruction. Before long, the witcher makes a broken noise, and releases inside Jaskier, a blissed-out sigh in his voice when he does.

Jaskier follows soon after with a choked noise, sinking down with one last jolt to his prostate, along with his own hand stroking his cock. He spends himself on Geralt’s chest, catching him in a kiss and riding through the orgasm to the point of oversensitivity. They’re panting by the time they stop, covered in sweat and spit and the heady smell of sex, and Geralt is certain he wants nothing more than this.

“You’re too good with your words sometimes,” Geralt says, and he means to make it bite more, but it’s difficult to accomplish that when his cock was still buried in Jaskier’s hole. When they part and the cool air touches him, he hisses lightly. Jaskier, on the other hand, is beaming, falling to his side with a soft  _ thump. _

“I’m glad to hear you liked my verbal performance! I do try my best, especially with you,” He replies, and Geralt wonders if he meant for it to sound so loving, but his heart flutters like that of a blushing virgin anyways. “What say you and I get cleaned up?”

“Too lazy,” Geralt responds, as he always does. He can’t recall a time he actually got up after sex to clean up, simply because he’d been dirtier for far longer. Jaskier always turns his nose up at this, claims he smells thick with sex, but never leaves to clean up either.

The bard shifts a little uncomfortably, and Geralt slips his fingers inside Jaskier’s wet hole to empty him a little. His cock is too spent to get hard again, and he knows this fully well, but it doesn’t stop the jolt that has him swearing under his breath when Jaskier moans around his fingers. When he decides that Jaskier is sufficiently empty, he looks up at the bard, staring right into glass blue eyes, and licks his own fingers.

Jaskier shudders and kisses him, a smile on his lips when he tastes remnants of the lavender oil and the bitter twang of seed on Geralt’s tongue. Geralt melts into the kiss and decides that if this is where destiny wants him, in some shabby then he’s more than willing to stay here forever.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m theratforivia on tumblr! come stop by for a chat.


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